You Remind Me Of The Babe
by Apollonia
Summary: HP/Labyrinth Crossover (sort of). While war rages in the Labyrinth, Jareth & Sarah's child arrives at Hogwarts. The trio go from Hogwarts to America to Alexandria to the Underground in search of Voldemort's possible downfall.
1. The Girl

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I don't own the Labyrinth. If there's stuff here that's unfamiliar to you, it's mine. I own the plot and the idea, but I'm not making any money, so I'd be really grateful if nobody sued me.  
  
Author's Note: This is a Harry Potter/Labyrinth crossover of sorts. I've had to bend time a little bit, but I claim artistic license. I'd love to know what you as the reader think of the story: good, bad or mediocre.  
  
Author's Note: I'm posting here as 'Apollonia', the name I used in the Buffy fandom, but HP fandomers are more likely to know me as 'Apolla'. Just thought I should let you know.  
  
*  
  
Thus far during this academic year there had been no upsets at Hogwarts. However, this statistic was made less impressive by the fact that the Sorting Hat had only just started sorting the new first years into Houses.  
  
A small group of Sixth year students were huddled at one end of the Gryffindor table talking excitedly. Harry, Ron and Hermione had not seen each other almost at all during the summer and had much to catch up on.  
  
They barely noticed the Sorting Ceremony, but retained enough concentration on it to clap and whoop loudly when a new student was selected for Gryffindor. When the ceremony was over they finally turned to see Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry & Witchcraft, stand to make several announcements.  
  
"I have several notices. Firstly, I would like to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is still, in fact, forbidden to all students," he paused to clear his throat slightly.  
  
"Secondly, we are also welcoming a new student into the Sixth Year today. I believe she is arriving any moment now. Ah yes," he said as he saw a girl enter the room with Professor McGonagall.  
  
***  
  
The girl walked down the centre aisle of the dining room, between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. If she was nervous as the eyes of every student and teacher were upon her, she didn't show it. She walked calmly, if rather slowly, to the front of the room, where her new teachers awaited her.  
  
Not short, not tall, the girl at first glance was perfectly normal. Yet only a slightly closer look would reveal a bone structure so delicate and so refined that it could not possibly be human.  
  
She was certainly striking and her eyes (one green, one blue) glittered with untold thoughts. Her fingers were long and graceful, the sort which came in particularly useful for playing complex classical music on the piano. She also had what could only really be described as a thatch of red hair that had been tied into a plait at some point but which was now coming undone, leaving strands to fall in her eyes.  
  
She was so delicate that she looked as if she didn't really exist, that she must be some rather pleasant looking figment of the imagination. This girl was one of the mysterious fae. Her lips were the only things she inherited entirely from her mother. Where her father's lips were thin, often a hard unyielding sneer, her mother's lips were full and red. Thus, so were hers.  
  
***  
  
"Orla Mac Nessa?" Professor McGonagall was now stood by the Sorting Hat and asked for the girl's name although she already knew exactly who she was. The girl nodded and sat on the stool, where the Professor then placed the Sorting Hat onto the girl's head.  
  
"Hmmm," the hat said as it sprung to life. "Haven't had anyone this interesting in a while. Clever, yes, yes. Hmm. Cunning too, you'd make a fine Slytherin. You could be a great Slytherin yes. Lots of possibilities here. Oooh, you've got lots of your father in you, dear girl. Now... Hmmm. Clever and cunning. Oh, but what's this? Very brave and determined too, that's your mother, isn't it? Loyalty too. Oooh yes, you could be tremendous. Hmm. I know where to put you!"  
  
The Sorting Hat shouted its answer: "Gryffindor!"  
  
The house in question cheered as the girl took a seat. Dumbledore stood and said the magic words:  
  
"Let the feast begin!"  
  
***  
  
The girl sat surrounded by first years. She ate only a little, still feeling rather uneasy. As the eleven-year-olds around her chattered, stuffing cakes into their mouths, she sat picking at her food. She could also hear others talking. More specifically, she could hear them talking about her.  
  
"I wonder who she is?"  
  
"You don't get many new students coming after First year. She's a Sixth year, after all."  
  
"She looks nice enough."  
  
This last comment came from one of the students at the other end of the table. She turned to look at the other Sixth year students. One of them, a young man with a shock of red hair, approached her.  
  
"You want to come and sit with the rest of us Sixth years?"  
  
"Is there space?" she asked rather uncertainly.  
  
"There soon will be. Come on," he said. Then he turned and she followed.  
  
The boy made everyone on her side of the table move down a space so she could sit between a girl with unruly brown curls and a boy whose accent immediately told her that he hailed from Manchester. They all nodded hellos of varying sorts. The brown haired girl turned to her.  
  
"I'm Hermione Granger," she told Orla with a smile.  
  
"I'm Ron," the boy with red hair interjected.  
  
The boy from somewhere in the North West of England was identified as Neville Longbottom, two more were called Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, then Hermione pointed to a boy with messy black hair, green eyes and black spectacles, and a kind smile.  
  
"This is Harry Potter," Hermione told her. If the girl knew the name, she didn't show it.  
  
"Hello," Orla said to him rather quietly.  
  
"You're... Orla?" Hermione asked, anxious to know if she'd got the name right.  
  
"Yes. Orla."  
  
"Where are you from?" Hermione, always curious, wondered.  
  
"Oh... Well, it all depends," Orla looked nervously down at the table. She hadn't expected to deal with all of this before she'd even gone to sleep for the night.  
  
"It's OK. Hermione's just the interrogative sort," said Harry, glaring at Hermione. For her part, Hermione glared back.  
  
"Sorry. I'm just very tired. I had a long journey to get here."  
  
"You weren't on the train?"  
  
"No. I came a different way. There was no point going all the way down to London from Belfast."  
  
"Belfast?" Seamus' interest was immediately piqued. "What were you doing in Belfast?"  
  
"That's where I got the boat from," she said. "And to answer the other question, I've been living in a small town near Limavady for... A while."  
  
A look of sadness flitted over her face, which they all noticed and realised that now was not the time to ask any more.  
  
***  
  
The feast over, Orla was taken by Hermione to their dormitory, a round room at the top of a tower. She found all her belongings had already been placed at the foot of what she assumed to be her new bed: a grand four poster affair with thick red and gold blankets.  
  
"Oh, you're next to me," Hermione noted with a grin. "If you need anything, anything at all, let me know."  
  
"Thank you," Orla smiled slightly before sliding tiredly into her bed.  
  
It was nicer and much more comfortable than the bed she had slept in these past years and yet not as comfortable as her bed at home. Funny that she could still remember how her bed at home felt after all this time. Funny the things one remembers. With this thought in her head, Orla fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
"Wake up!" Hermione's sharp but not unkind voice drifted into the foggy recesses of Orla's mind. She cracked open one eye slightly and saw that sunlight was pouring into the room. Hermione was standing over her, already dressed.  
  
"You'll be late. We have to pick up our schedules at breakfast. But I've got a sneaking suspicion we'll have double Potions first thing," she wrinkled her nose at this distinctly unappealing prospect.  
  
Orla groaned but got out of bed just the same. Hermione waited patiently while she washed and dressed in her unfamiliar new robes and then led her to the Great Hall. They made it just in time for breakfast and found seats with Harry and Ron.  
  
"Morning girls," said Ron. "Sleep well?"  
  
"Wonderfully!" Hermione told him. "I always sleep well here."  
  
"Fine thanks," Orla mumbled, still uneasy around all these unfamiliar people.  
  
As Professor McGonagall handed out schedules, a groan rose from every Sixth year Gryffindor as they each discovered the horrid truth: On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays they had double Potions first thing in the morning with the Slytherins and the always amiable Professor Snape.  
  
"Looking forward to classes?" Hermione asked Orla.  
  
"Hermione, nobody looks forwards to class except you," Ron said. Hermione fixed him with a glare.  
  
"Pay no attention to Ronald," she told Orla with a smirk towards Ron.  
  
"This timetable just stinks," Ron said, reading further down. "Hardly any time for Quidditch practice."  
  
As they had done the night before, they all avoided asking the girl Orla any probing questions, sensing that she would talk to them as and when she wanted to. Breakfast over, they had time to collect their books before heading down into the dungeons.  
  
***  
  
"Where's Orla? She'll be late. I don't want Snape to hate her right from the start," Hermione was beside herself. Professor Snape came in sneering at the Gryffindors as usual. He had barely begun speaking when the door opened and a flustered looking Orla came in.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry, Professor..."  
  
"Quite all right. Sit down quickly," he said in a dismissive tone.  
  
Everyone turned to look at Orla. When had Snape ever let off anyone for being late? The entire class looked shocked. She settled down next to Ron and kept her head down for most of the class. The Slytherins, Draco most particularly, eyed her with interest. What did Snape know that they did not?  
  
"How did you get away with that?" Harry asked after class.  
  
"He never lets anything get by with a 'Quite all right', let alone lateness," Hermione added. The three of them looked to Orla for an answer.  
  
"I... I don't know," she said in a manner that immediately alerted them to the fact that she did know but wasn't going to tell them.  
  
"Ginny!" Ron called out. A girl from the year below approached and stuck her hand out to Orla.  
  
"You're the new girl, right? Great to have you in Gryffindor. I'm Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister," the girl told Orla.  
  
"Little sister," added Ron. Ginny smirked and stuck her tongue out at him.  
  
"It's nice to meet you," Orla smiled politely, but her voice was still quiet.  
  
***  
  
The rest of the day continued in much the same vein. Orla spoke only a little, which concerned Hermione in particular.  
  
"It isn't right that Orla's so quiet. I mean, she's hardly said a word to anyone all day. She's up in the dorm all on her own instead of down here with everyone. I mean, I'm not a social butterfly, but being on your own all the time like that isn't normal!" she said, pausing only briefly to take a breath.  
  
Hermione, Harry and Ron were in the Gryffindor common room while Orla had already gone upstairs to the dorm. Ginny was sat by them, reading her Intermediate Transfiguration book.  
  
"Maybe she's shy," Harry suggested distractedly, engrossed instead in the game of Wizard's Chess he and Ron were playing.  
  
"Maybe she's hiding something," Ron said, not really meaning it, but moving another pawn.  
  
"Maybe she's finding it hard adjusting to life at Hogwarts," Ginny put in from across the table where she was studying.  
  
"After all, how many new students do you get in the Sixth Year?" added Harry. "Maybe she's worried she won't be good enough or won't fit in. I know I was like that at first, and I was only a first year."  
  
"Thank you, Dr Harry," Ron said dryly, taking one of Harry's pawns with ease.  
  
"I should talk to her," Hermione decided, getting up.  
  
***  
  
Orla sat staring out of the window into the darkness. She thought of home and of her parents. She thought of the safe haven in Ireland that had been her refuge for nearly five years. She also wondered, as Harry had correctly guessed, if she could make the grade here.  
  
Her father was a powerful magician, but it was a markedly different sort of magic to that practiced at Hogwarts. She wondered about all of it. Indeed, Orla had not even owned a wand until very recently: a hand-me-down from her father (nine inches, silver birch, with an owl feather at the core) which had belonged to him as a boy. She had been told that most second hand wands were not as powerful, but it was nice to have something of his.  
  
She worried about what would happen when they found out who she was, if they would even believe her. Would they give her preferential treatment, as Snape had already done that morning, or would they mock her? Orla wasn't sure. She turned away from the window, tiring of the silver moon that taunted her with memories of home.  
  
She flopped onto her bed and pulled out of the nightstand drawer the only thing she had with her that had been her mother's. It was a small, delicately made gold music box with a dancing figure in the centre. The dancer had long brown hair, big brown eyes and cherry red lips. When she turned a key music played, a haunting melody indeed, and the dancer twirled in her pink ball gown. This girl was her mother a long time ago.  
  
The tune played on, beautiful and sad, reminding her of stories told to her as a little girl. Her father had sung to her as the music played, lulling her to sleep. Now all she needed to do was close her eyes and she would hear him:  
  
"I'll paint you mornings of gold, I'll spin you Valentine evenings..."  
  
The light came on and Hermione stood framed in the doorway. Hurriedly, Orla closed the box and put it back into her drawer.  
  
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked with genuine concern.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I don't believe you," Hermione said gently.  
  
"I just miss my family," Orla admitted.  
  
"They live in Ireland? Are they wizards or Muggles?"  
  
"No they live... Elsewhere. And they aren't wizards. They're.... Neither."  
  
"How do you mean? If you don't want to talk, that's all right, but I was just worried. It isn't good to bottle up feelings. Especially around here, boarding school environment and everything."  
  
"It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just I'm not sure that I should," Orla said honestly, smiling weakly for Hermione.  
  
"Well, you at least have to come and watch Ron and Harry play chess. It's getting interesting," said Hermione in a tone that left no room for argument.  
  
Orla smiled wryly, got off the bed and followed the other girl down into the din on the common room. Ron and Harry were sat playing chess, each of them wearing looks of utmost concentration. Most of Gryffindor was watching the game.  
  
"Hmmm. Castle to D6," said Ron. His castle moved forwards, blowing up Harry's bishop in the process. Harry sighed as Ron crowed, but they both stopped when Hermione and Orla sat down.  
  
"Please, continue gentlemen," Hermione said. Ron won rather quickly after that, leaving Harry slightly disgruntled.  
  
"Ron always wins," Hermione told Orla with a laugh.  
  
"He does not always win," Harry said defensively. Ron cackled.  
  
"Harry won. Once," he told Orla. "But I maintain it was unfair due to me coughing up slugs. It was distracting."  
  
Orla giggled in spite of herself. As she look around the room at smiling, laughing Gryffindors, she realised that, if she tried, these people could be real friends.  
  
***  
  
Defence Against the Dark Arts was the first class they had the next morning, combined once again with the Slytherin Sixth years. Today they were studying the best strategies for fighting manticores and chimaeras. Then, halfway through the class, Professor Lupin was called to Dumbledore's office. Almost as soon as Lupin had gone, someone sidled over to where Orla sat with Hermione.  
  
"Sod off, Malfoy," said Hermione without even looking up from her parchment. Orla looked up to see a Slytherin boy with cold grey eyes, white blond hair and a fairly unpleasant demeanour.  
  
"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy," he told Maura, extending his hand out to her.  
  
"Orla Mac Nessa," she replied, shaking his hand without any warmth or feeling behind the gesture.  
  
"Where are you from? I take it you're not a Mudblood?" Draco asked, pointedly ignoring Hermione. Hermione growled at the remark, but Orla was puzzled for a moment. However, she could guess at the meaning of the word. It would be so easy to snap back with what she knew was the mother of all answers, but she wasn't meant to tell.  
  
"What concern is it of yours?" she asked flatly.  
  
"None. But if you were a pureblood, I'd hate for you to sully the good name of your family by mixing with her sort," he nodded towards Hermione.  
  
Behind them, Ron and Harry looked as if they were ready to pounce on Malfoy. But Orla stood up, drawing herself up to what seemed much taller than normal. She held herself imperiously and Draco cowered somewhat.  
  
"Dear boy, my lineage is of no concern to you," her voice was loud and firm in contrast to the softly spoken girl Hogwarts had seen so far. "But if you insult my friend again, I'll make sure you become personally introduced to every one of my ancestors."  
  
Without giving away details, Orla's tone made it clear that her ancestors might not be the friendliest of sorts, whoever they were. Her eyes flashed angrily and Draco skulked back to his seat. Orla sat back down to admiring stares for most, and a pleased if slightly embarrassed smile from Hermione.  
  
"That's Draco," Hermione's voice quivered slightly.  
  
"Don't you believe him for a second," Harry said, coming over. He looked at Orla. "Hermione's the best witch in our entire year, probably the whole school. Being a pureblood means nothing except that some people think it makes them superior."  
  
Harry shot a look of pure fire at Malfoy at this point.  
  
"Oh, I know the feeling," Orla said softly. "One day, that boy will question the wrong person," she added in a warning tone.  
  
Harry and Hermione exchanged worried looks but said nothing.  
  
***  
  
Orla settled into the school fairly easily after that. Although sometimes prone to quiet moods, she had begun to open up a little to her housemates. Her background was still a mystery, but the Gryffindors decided that she was a good enough sort and that whatever it was she felt she had to hide was nothing as important as the fact that she was becoming a good friend.  
  
Her classes were a little different, however. She excelled in Transfiguration and Charms, but Arithmancy and several other classes caused her difficulty. Potions varied wildly for her. Sometimes she understood it all before anyone else (with the exception of Hermione) but sometimes she couldn't fathom it at all.  
  
She varied from introversion to extroversion with seeming ease, although she had not been genuinely at ease since arriving. Hermione had awoken several nights to find Orla thrashing wildly in her bed in the throes of clearly terrifying nightmares. If Orla remembered them the next day, she never said. Occasionally a haunted look could be seen on the girl's face and most of the school had noticed that she got even less mail than Harry did.  
  
Then one day, just as the snow had begun to fall and McGonagall had begun asking for names of students staying over Christmas, Orla received a parcel at breakfast. It was a tiny box and had no return address. Indeed, the owl didn't even bother staying to see if she would reply. On seeing the handwriting, she bolted from the Great Hall and fled to the dorm. She was late into Potions, but Snape said nothing, although perhaps her tear- stained face had more to do with it this time that anything he knew about her.  
  
***  
  
More to come in chapter two. I thank you in advance for your reviews. 


	2. Of Crystals and Kings

Chapter Two  
  
Orla was on edge, that much could be gathered by even the unobservant that day. She fidgeted almost constantly in her seat, as if she was ready to bolt at any second. She barely made eye contact with anyone and if she did she broke contact immediately. She couldn't concentrate in any of her lessons and barely said a word, even to her friends.  
  
When questioned she managed monosyllabic answers only. When they finally reached the end of the school day, she headed straight for the dorm. Her friends were split as to what to do: Hermione wanted to give her some time alone, Ron wanted to see if a Canary Cream would cheer her up and Harry wanted to get her to talk.  
  
"She looks like she's about to burst," he said in explanation. Hermione sighed.  
  
"She's also a girl. We need to be alone sometimes. And we don't know what that box was this morning," she reminded him. He remained concerned, but didn't go up to see Orla.  
  
***  
  
Orla slammed the door closed and threw herself roughly down onto her bed. Trying very hard not to cry she opened the little box with trembling fingers. Nestled inside was a sparkling crystal orb. The sob that had been forcing its way out of her throat all day won the fight and tears began running down her eyes.  
  
The note accompanying the crystal merely said: If you turn it this way, it will show you your dreams. It was not signed, but she already knew who had sent it. She picked up sthe crystal and turned it expertly in her hands, as if she had been handling magic crystals all her life. Which, she reminded herself with a slight groan, she had. She looked into and the blood drained from her face. What she saw inside broke her heart.  
  
Her home had been entirely destroyed. The scene within the crystal shifted to show her the extent of the damage. Where a neatly constructed Labyrinth had once stood, with its complex maze of passages and dead-ends, oubliettes and forests, now only rubble remained. It had been entirely flattened to the extent that she could easily see the half-destroyed city beyond and a battered castle beyond that.  
  
She managed to control her sobs and asked for the crystal to show her something else. The crystal showed her a vast battle of thousands, as if the entire Underground had taken up arms against each other. It was bloody and horrific to observe. Right in the heat of the battle, she saw something that stuck out amongst the mass of goblins.  
  
He was tall, thin, and had the unmistakeable bearing of a king. His long blond hair hung limply around his face and was stained red with blood. His face was stony and he fought with callous precision. The battle was all there was in his mind at that moment. She watched, mortified for some moments, before she saw another fae approach him, sword held up. The blond, too concerned with the fate of several of his own goblin foot-soldiers, did not see the dark-haired fae approach, sword held high.  
  
"I wish the goblins would take me away. Right now!" Orla shrieked in a panic.  
  
The crystal went blank. Outside, the night became even darker, lit only very briefly by lightning twice. The second time the lightning flashed the windows of the dorm opened and an owl flew in. After a moment the owl transformed into a person. It was the man in the crystal. Instead of being covered in blood, he had managed to clean up and was wearing particularly intimidating looking black clothes, topped with a magnificent black cloak. His hair was now clean and neat. He did not look happy.  
  
"What is going on here?" he demanded as he became aware of his surroundings. "Orla!" His eyes widened as he recognised the wish-maker  
  
"Hello Daddy," she said softly. The sneer on his face fell away to leave only concern etched into his features.  
  
"What's going on? Why did you try and wish yourself away? Orla, tell me!" he demanded urgently.  
  
"I saw you," she said, still trembling from what she'd seen in the crystal. "I saw you and you were about to die." She dissolved into tears for the second time that evening.  
  
"You got my crystal, then?" he asked wryly. The veneer of the harsh Goblin King was gone and now only a loving father remained. He sat on the edge of her bed and put his arm around her shoulder. "You should not have done that, Orla."  
  
"What's said is said," she retorted. He had no answer to his own usual reply. "Besides, I haven't seen you in the longest time," she finished, her voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
Jareth, King of the Goblins and Lord Protector of all the Underground sighed.  
  
"Orla..."  
  
"No! Don't Orla me!" she said, her upset turning to anger. "I haven't seen you in two years!"  
  
"You might have noticed," he said dryly "That I'm in the middle of a war."  
  
"Yes, that's true," she looked at him with such a cold look that he was sure it had him frozen to the spot.  
  
"However, I'm sure that every soldier in your army has had leave in the last two years?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you?"  
  
"I'm trying to keep the entire Underground safe. I cannot simply take off for the Aboveground on a whim!" he exclaimed. He jumped up, himself becoming agitated.  
  
"Since when am I a whim?" she shot back quickly.  
  
"You were never a whim!" he said. "But..."  
  
"You can't bear to look at me!"  
  
"That is not true," he said.  
  
"Yes," she said softly. "It is."  
  
"No."  
  
"So, kindly explain to me, oh great and powerful Goblin King, why you have visited me only once in the last five years? I know you could have done so more often."  
  
"I was trying to keep you safe. Do you know what Brekdor would do if he discovered where you were?"  
  
"Send me a birthday card?" she asked sarcastically.  
  
One look at her father's face told her that her flippant answer was one she shouldn't have given.  
  
"Don't," he said in a particularly cool voice.  
  
She knew he was trying valiantly to remain cool and composed, as befitted his station and more importantly, his reputation.  
  
"Sorry." Orla looked down at the floor, at her shoes, anywhere but at her father.  
  
"I would love for nothing more than to have everything the way it was before," he said. "But we cannot have everything our hearts desire."  
  
"I could help you!"  
  
"No," he answered before the words were completely out of her mouth. "I will not lose you too."  
  
"Fine," she mumbled, unable to fight his pain. "But you have to promise me something!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That just because you don't want to live without her that you'll let yourself die!" Orla cried. "And don't try to deny it. I saw you fighting. You didn't care if you lived or died! How am I supposed to cope if you die? Do you know what will happen?"  
  
"You will take my place," he said, almost as if he was realising this for the first time.  
  
"Yes! And moreover, when you arrive in Heaven, my mother will kill you all over again for leaving me all alone!"  
  
Even the Goblin King had to crack a smile at that one.  
  
"Most likely," he replied.  
  
"Please don't leave me, Daddy," she said quietly, trying once more not to cry.  
  
"I promise," he sat back down with her. A thought seemed to occur to him. "Nobody knows... who you are, do they?"  
  
"No. But it's terribly hard to hide from my new friends. They're ever so nice and they're interested in me but I can't say anything. I expect they're out of their minds after the way I was acting today."  
  
"They are good children," another voice entered the conversation. Professor Dumbledore was stood in the doorway. "I apologise for intruding. But I had to be sure that nothing was amiss. I knew that this was no ordinary owl."  
  
"Hello Professor," the King said amiably.  
  
"Jareth, it is good to see you again. And alive," he said pointedly. Orla watched with amusement. Was her father embarrassed? That wasn't like him at all.  
  
"Did you know that your father attended Hogwarts as a youth, Orla?" Dumbledore asked. His twinkling eyes looked at the Goblin King with amusement.  
  
"No. I thought he was schooled at home."  
  
"I spent three years here," Jareth told her softly. This was of great interest to her.  
  
"What house were you in? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I wanted the Sorting to depend on your feelings, not where I had once been. You should not have to follow me."  
  
"Which one?" she asked again.  
  
"Gryffindor," Jareth seemed to actually blush at that one.  
  
"Really?" Orla seemed genuinely surprised.  
  
"If you even think about telling me that you thought I'd be in Slytherin..."  
  
"Well, you do the whole scary Goblin King thing so well. You terrified Mum, after all."  
  
"Only at first," Jareth said with a small smile. "Is she getting along well here?" he asked Dumbledore.  
  
"Yes. Indeed. Quite good at Transfiguration," Dumbledore said meaningfully.  
  
"You haven't..." Jareth trailed off.  
  
"No," Orla said. "I haven't."  
  
"But, you really need to on occasion. You must not become unfamiliar with the feeling," Jareth looked genuinely concerned. He turned to Dumbledore. "I have to ask you Professor, she must have permission to transform."  
  
"Quite. I will have Professor McGonagall speak with Orla tomorrow. I'm sure we can work something out. But it must, of course, be kept a secret."  
  
"Indeed. It's of the utmost importance that Orla's real identity be kept secret," said Jareth. Dumbledore noticed Orla's face fall.  
  
"Perhaps..." he began. She looked up at him. "I think she might be able to confide in her close friends."  
  
"Close friends? Honestly, she..."  
  
"I know Harry Potter and his friends. You can trust them, Jareth. She is clearly under the strain of such a secret. It does not do well to burden a young girl with such things."  
  
"Yes. Professor, on another matter, I must talk to you."  
  
Dumbledore nodded and they moved out of Orla's earshot. They spoke for a few moments, nodding and looking particularly sombre. They moved apart and Jareth stood.  
  
"I must go back now, Orla,"  
  
She nodded unhappily, knowing him to be right. He pulled her into a tight hug. As she drew back, she noticed a long scar running down from his ear, all the way down his neck and even continuing under his shirt. Her eyes widened in horror, but she chose not to question him. He was, after all, under enough stress.  
  
"I love you Daddy," she whispered.  
  
"And I love you, Orla," he smiled, once again looking unbearably sad, before becoming an owl and flying out of the window. She slumped back onto her bed.  
  
"It does not do to dwell on dreams, Orla," Dumbledore said gently.  
  
"I know that," she said softly. "But sometimes it's all we have, Professor."  
  
"You should tell your friends. But you must not tell them everything. Your identity as... Another... should remain secret. It would cause rather a stir around here. And you should keep everything only between you and those you truly trust," she nodded, understanding.  
  
"I can trust my friends," she said authoritatively. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"You should join them downstairs. I believe a particularly spirited game of Exploding Snap is now in progress," Dumbledore smiled at her in the manner of a kindly grandfather, and stepped out of the way for her to head down the stairs.  
  
"Thank you Professor."  
  
"It's quite all right. But you should not summon your father like that again."  
  
"I know," she whispered before heading down the stairs.  
  
***  
  
Orla made her way a little uncertainly down the stairs. Seeing her father after so long had been equal parts exhilarating and exhausting, frustrating and refreshing. She sighed heavily.  
  
Were Hermione, Ron and Harry people she could tell? Could she trust them? As she entered the common room, the three threw down their cards and looked at her with great concern.  
  
"Are you OK?"  
  
"Do you need anything?"  
  
"Feel better?"  
  
They all spoke at once. Yes, she realised: these three were friends and she could trust them. If their reputations were true, they might even be able to help her.  
  
"I feel a little better, thank you," she said with a rather weak smile.  
  
"We were ever so worried," Hermione spoke first.  
  
"If you want to talk, you can talk to us," added Ron.  
  
"You can tell us anything. We won't tell," finished Harry. At their earnest looks, Orla smiled broadly.  
  
"Yes. I think it's time. But it has to stay between us," she said, looking around the crowded common room with concern.  
  
"We could always sneak off somewhere. It's not late," Ron suggested.  
  
"The library," Harry said.  
  
"You know, I expected Hermione to come up with that one," Ron said with an amused grin.  
  
"I was about to," Hermione looked rather put out.  
  
"Well, it's going to be deserted by now," Harry reasoned. "And we need a reason to leave. What better reason than late-night studying?"  
  
"That's exactly what I was going to say," said Hermione.  
  
They left the common room behind and headed to the library. One there they headed to Hermione's favourite spot- a secluded table by the windows where nobody could see or hear them.  
  
They settled down and then the other three looked at Orla expectantly.  
  
"Where to begin?" she sighed. "My mother was American. She was also as Muggle as they come. Her family, in fact, hadn't had a witch for nearly twelve generations. But she loved to dream and she believed in a world that only a few others believed existed. the Underground, the birthplace of magic, where goblins and fairies and all sorts of magical creatures dwell. Hagrid would love it there," she paused to laugh slightly.  
  
"Now, the Underground has been around a long time and is split into lots of different lands. One of those lands is the Labyrinth, the Goblin City and all the land surrounding it."  
  
"I've read about this!" Hermione exclaimed. "The Goblin King takes children and turns them into goblins."  
  
Orla grimaced at Hermione's notion of exactly who the Goblin King was. Her father really needed to work on his PR, she thought.  
  
"He only takes children who are wished away. And my mother happened to wish her baby brother away. She realised her mistake immediately of course, but was told by the Goblin King that she would have to reach the Castle beyond the Goblin City within 13 hours. She had to complete the Labyrinth in 13 hours. It's standard procedure except that not one person has ever, ever completed it. My mother was the first to do so."  
  
Her friends looked distinctly impressed. She continued.  
  
"Of course, the Goblin King maintained that he made it easy for her because he was in love with her, but she knew that this wasn't so."  
  
"The Goblin King loved your mother?" Hermione asked. "But he was cold, cruel and evil. All the books say so."  
  
"He was playing the part expected of him. When my mother defeated him, she and her brother were returned home safely," she paused for breath. "My mother was 15 at the time and resolved to put it all behind her. But you see, one of the reasons that she beat the Labyrinth was her ability to see what wasn't always clear. She began to realise that the Goblin King was not as ruthless as he seemed, and that on several occasions during her time there, he had even been kind to her. When she turned eighteen, he returned of his own accord. Under the pretence of challenging her to his new and improved Labyrinth, he took her to the Underground."  
  
"How awful!" Ron piped up. "He kidnapped her!"  
  
"No. She went willingly and saw a different side of the Labyrinth and of him. She saw beauty and truth and most of all, love. Without the need to play heroines and villains, they could see who they really were. The Goblin King was charming and generous and kind to her. More importantly, he was head over heels in love with her. She needed a little time, but she too, fell in love with him. She left the Aboveground for good and was married to the King."  
  
"So, what you're saying..." Ron began.  
  
"Jareth, King of the Goblins and Lord Protector of all the Underground and its dominions is my father, yes. I am half-fae and half-human. You think I got these ears through clever plastic surgery?" she asked dryly.  
  
"Hang on," Harry spoke now. "You spoke of your mother in the past tense." A shadow of sadness flickered across Orla's face.  
  
"Oh, my story isn't finished. The King and Queen had a daughter, me. I was to be the next in a long line of highly distinguished monarchs. The Mac Nessas have been around for millennia both above and underground. The famous ancient Irish King Conor Mac Nessa was one of the same line. The Underground had been safe for centuries under my family's rule. However, five years ago, a dark fae from another part of the Underground began to attack other lands. He gained a great deal of power in a very short time..."  
  
"Sounds familiar," said Harry, bitterness in his voice.  
  
"But nobody ever dreamed that he would attack my father, who wasn't just Lord Protector, but far and away the most powerful of all the fae. But as my father's armies prepared to meet his, he attacked the goblin lands. My mother chose to fight by my father's side. Brekdor, the fae in question, killed her. Her death brought war to the entire underground. That was five years ago," she paused again.  
  
All three reached over to squeeze her hands. She sighed yet again and continued,  
  
"From there, it escalated rapidly. But my father, who had loved only one woman in what was by then already a very long life, was distraught. He sent me to live in a safe haven aboveground in Ireland with other descendants of the Mac Nessas. My red hair came in handy there. He threw himself into the war. The last time I saw him was two years ago. Then this morning, I received this," she said as she pulled out her father's crystal from the pocket of her robes.  
  
Even such experienced young wizards as these three were impressed at the perfect sphere in her hand.  
  
"If you know how to use it, it can show you almost anything you want to see. I asked to see my home this evening. The labyrinth which my father constructed so painstakingly has been flattened. I then asked to see him and saw him in the middle of a battle."  
  
"He didn't..." Hermione began gently.  
  
"No. Nearly. But I wished myself away," she smirked proudly. It had been an inspired idea, she thought.  
  
"How was that meant to help?" Ron asked.  
  
"When you wish someone away, they don't go directly there, the Goblin King has to come to you."  
  
"You pulled him out of the battle and summoned him here," Harry guessed. She nodded.  
  
"Literally in the nick of time. But he was not pleased."  
  
"We thought we heard shouting at one point. We didn't like to ask."  
  
"My father and I look very much alike. Unfortunately, I have inherited more than unmatching eyes," she laughed. "We argued, then Dumbledore arrived. He knew my father when he attended the school."  
  
"The Goblin King attended Hogwarts? You'd think that would be in a book somewhere," said Hermione indignantly.  
  
"For the final three years, or so it appears."  
  
"And he knew Dumbledore then? When was it?" Hermione continued, ever in search of knowledge.  
  
"I'm not sure. He's always refused to tell me exactly how old he is. He's such a woman sometimes."  
  
"So, why are you telling us all this now?" asked Hermione.  
  
"I was told to keep my identity secret. If it got out that my father is a powerful fae king, I would certainly be treated differently."  
  
"Like Snape does," Ron cut in. Orla nodded.  
  
"Yes. He's far too worried what my notoriously terrifying father would do if he were to upset me. But I don't want to be treated differently. And of course, the fewer people who know exactly who I am, the safer I am from my father's enemies. Which is why you must not tell anyone."  
  
"You can trust us," Hermione assured her.  
  
"I know," she smiled. "I have wanted to tell you all, but I couldn't risk it. Professor Dumbledore persuaded my father that you three could be trusted.  
  
"He did?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yes. He likes you three. I can tell."  
  
"Will you be summoning your father again? How come he didn't take you if you wished yourself away?" Hermione's inquiring mind had many questions for Orla.  
  
"Well, I mustn't call him again like that. It might keep him alive, but who knows what would happen if the battle was lost because he was here? He might be tracked here. And secondly, the Goblin King only takes children if he wants to. Seeing as he sent me here and there's a full blown war there, he didn't really want to take me. Besides, I don't think he'd like me as a fluffy little goblin."  
  
"Well, we've got the famous Harry Potter and Princess Orla," Ron cracked. "Now all we need is a bearded lady, a few weird creatures, and we've got ourselves a travelling circus!"  
  
He ducked, prepared himself for the smacks and 'Oh Ron, honestly's' he knew were coming.  
  
***  
  
Life settled down considerably after that evening of revelations. Orla was able to relax more, knowing that her friends knew who she really was, and that they accepted her just as they had before.  
  
She went with Hermione to watch Ron, Harry and the Gryffindors practice Quidditch. She watched with amusement as Hermione's eyes lit up every time Harry flew near. She wondered if the two of them would ever actually admit their feelings, or if they would spend the rest of their time at Hogwarts blissfully unaware of each other's feelings.  
  
She found that the aching loneliness she had felt for most of the last five years slowly begin to melt away. Every time she was invited to play chess or Exploding Snap, each time she was persuaded to go into Hogsmeade with the Sixth years, she felt as if for once, she might actually belong.  
  
Then she would recall the secrets she still had, and realised that she did not belong. She wouldn't ever. She wasn't just a half-blood, she was a half- breed. It had never bothered her before, but now, here with the likes of Malfoy, it had become an issue. But it wasn't something anyone else could understand. To them, she simply looked like a very exotic human. So she supposed she must be just that. Then she would remember watching her father transform and realise that he was definitely not human, and nor was she. Privately too, she had issues with the use of owls as a postal service. She managed to stay quiet about it, until one afternoon when a barn owl flew into the girls' dorm, struggling with a large package for Lavender.  
  
"Oh! My mum sent my present already!" Lavender exclaimed, ignoring the exhausted owl completely and diving for the box. Orla reached for the owl and cradled it gently, offering it water and the only food she had- biscuits. It drank greedily.  
  
"That's so wrong," Orla said under her breath. Hermione however, caught it.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Making little owls like this one carry huge bloody boxes across the country," she said.  
  
"It's their job," Lavender put in.  
  
"Yes, but why is it their job? Who decided that these noble birds should be reduced to being a courier service?"  
  
"What's the matter, Orla?" asked Hermione.  
  
"This is the matter! Why should owl suffer like this just so we can receive the latest Witch Weekly promptly?"  
  
"It's always been this way. It's a long tradition. The owls do well out of it. They're well respected for their work," Hermione told her.  
  
"What, like House-Elves?" she snapped slightly, recalling a spirited speech by Hermione.  
  
"It's not the same at all," Hermione huffed. "Owls aren't oppressed. They choose to work, they choose to do what they want. And they get paid rather well. House-Elves don't."  
  
"Whatever. I still think it's wrong," she said, suddenly aware that to them, she seemed to be entirely overreacting for no apparent reason. She slumped onto her bed.  
  
*** The next part will follow very soon. Why did Orla react like that to the owl? What's happening in the Underground to Jareth? What secrets does Orla still have? What does this have to do with anything? 


	3. Of Secrets and Owls

Author's note the second: Elements of the Labyrinth side of the story in this chapter have been borrowed from the wonderful stories 'Prisoner of Love' and 'Heroes' by The Hooded Crow. They're both excellent stories, and I recommend them to you. Just head over to the Labyrinth section of FF.net.  
  
* Chapter Three  
  
Several weeks after the owl incident, Halloween arrived at Hogwarts. The Halloween feast had just begun and every student was tucking heartily into pies and other delicacies. Everyone was in high spirits, but then there was a strange, strangled cry. It sounded as if it was coming from outside, then it repeated, closer now.  
  
A single owl, a small snowy owl with red markings on its back flew into the Great Hall, clearly tired and injured. Everyone looked puzzled at this strange sight. Post wasn't due until the morning, and there was no reason this owl should be here.  
  
Only Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall looked unsurprised, although they shared a look of concern. The students watched as the owl struggled the length of the room, fell quite a distance in the air before collapsing by the staff table. Then came the shocked gasps.  
  
Where just seconds ago there had been an injured owl, now there lay the prone, bleeding form of Orla Mac Nessa. Professor McGonagall was the first to react, actually leaping over the table.  
  
"Get Madam Pomfrey quickly," she ordered a nearby Ravenclaw prefect. Within minutes, McGonagall and Snape were carrying Orla up to the hospital wing under the strict supervision of Madam Pomfrey. As soon as they left the room, the Great Hall exploded into a cacophony of sound.  
  
"She's only a Sixth year! She can't possibly transfigure like that!"  
  
"But she looks different. Maybe she isn't human."  
  
"Of course she's human! What else is she?"  
  
"I bet she's going to be in terrible trouble. Even if she can transfigure, it's not allowed and she was out alone. She'll probably be expelled!"  
  
This last comment came from Malfoy, who seemed to delight in Orla's misfortune.  
  
***  
  
"What happened? You were supposed to be back before dark," McGonagall sounded more concerned than angry.  
  
"I got lost. I'm still not used to being an owl. As it was getting dark, I got shot," At that moment, Madam Pomfrey pulled a small pellet from Orla's shoulder.  
  
"She'll be fine now."  
  
"No I won't," she said, looking meaningfully at Professor McGonagall.  
  
"The iron is poisoning you?" the Professor asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Poisoning her? How can it?" Pomfrey asked.  
  
"She's half-fae, Madam Pomfrey," McGonagall told the nurse. The unflappable Madam Pomfrey began to panic.  
  
"But I have nothing to help her!"  
  
"I have to go home," Orla told them as Dumbledore came into the hospital wing.  
  
"That is not possible, I am afraid," he told them gravely.  
  
"Why ever not?" Madam Pomfrey asked, clearly irritated that she was out of the loop.  
  
"There is a war there."  
  
"But she'll die!" Madam Pomfrey said indignantly.  
  
"No she won't. We can send for a doctor from the Underground to heal her," he said. He looked at Orla. She sighed, knowing what he needed her to do.  
  
"I haven't conjured crystals for a long time," she told him. "And then I was still learning."  
  
She concentrated intensely on the palm of her hand. A small, sparkling crystal appeared. It floated from her hand and away, out through the window.  
  
"Did it work?" Professor McGonagall asked.  
  
"Don't know. I hope so."  
  
"Well, how long will it take for a reply?" McGonagall asked, not as familiar with crystals as owls as communication.  
  
"Not long. If it worked, my healer should arrive soon."  
  
"And if not?"  
  
"I die?" Orla asked lightly.  
  
Professor McGonagall didn't appreciate that. Nor did Madam Pomfrey, who was determined that no one would die in her hospital wing.  
  
"Then Madam Pomfrey, I suggest we look for a solution until someone arrives," McGonagall took control again.  
  
"You will not move," Madam Pomfrey instructed Orla sternly.  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it," she said lightly, trying to mask the pain she felt.  
  
McGonagall and Pomfrey spend a full thirty minutes looking for cures until an incredibly tall, incredibly thin fae appeared holding up a crystal.  
  
"What is the meaning of all this? I'm trying to heal soldiers. Don't you know there's a war on..." he trailed off on seeing Orla. He bowed deeply.  
  
"My apologies your Highness. I didn't realise it was you."  
  
"Quite all right. I wasn't even sure the crystal would reach you."  
  
"Were you shot, Princess?" he asked as he examined her.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How long ago?"  
  
"A few hours," she said. He looked horrified.  
  
"I had to get back here. I'm sorry Ruairi."  
  
"No matter now, Princess," Ruairi said briskly, getting down to business.  
  
He shuffled around in his bag for a moment and then fussed over her for a moment. Madam Pomfrey tried to observe, to pick up tips, but all she saw was the healer place his hands over the wound. He then dressed the wound and stepped away. He looked somewhat drawn, as if the healing had taken quite a lot from him.  
  
"Better, Princess?" he asked. "I was only able to heal the poison. The shot wound will have to heal a little more naturally."  
  
"It's much better," she sat up now, no longer being slowly poisoned and now feeling almost entirely better.  
  
"You also had a slight cold coming Princess. I was able to get rid of it."  
  
"Thank you Ruairi. You should get back to our soldiers. They need you more than I do."  
  
"Of course, Princess."  
  
"And Ruairi?" she paused. "Look after my father?"  
  
"Always Princess," the Healer smiled and bowed before conjuring a crystal and disappearing.  
  
"What did he do?" Madam Pomfrey demanded to know.  
  
"I don't know. You never ever ask a healer how it is done. It's offensive. Besides he was born a healer. He has always had the ability."  
  
"Are you well now?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"Yes. I think so. The gunshot smarts a bit. I don't know what someone was doing shooting at an owl, anyway."  
  
"You can go. But I want you to go straight to bed. No messing around in the common room," Madam Pomfrey told her after examining the wound.  
  
"Yes Madam Pomfrey," she said meekly. She slid from the bed, still feeling rather lethargic. Professor McGonagall escorted her to the tower.  
  
"Professor?" she asked hesitantly.  
  
"Yes Orla?"  
  
"Will I still be able to fly? My father said that it was important that I fly regularly. I didn't mean to get lost."  
  
"I think we shall restrict you to the grounds of Hogwarts. For your own safety."  
  
"Yes Professor," she said, knowing that McGonagall was right.  
  
But something inside her felt saddened. She recalled the freedom of flying, soaring high into the sky towards the clouds. Now that would be taken away from her. But for the time being, she was too tired to think about it.  
  
***  
  
When she awoke it was morning and her dormmates were already awake and getting ready for breakfast. She hurriedly jumped from bed and rushed to get ready, wincing as she put her arm into her sleeve. She followed the other girls down to the Great Hall, knowing that all the gossip was likely to be about her crash landing last night. However, as she caught snatches of conversations, she realised with horror that they had also discovered the rest of her identity.  
  
"Malfoy was outside the hospital wing last night," Ron told her. "He heard Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall talking and then heard some weird tall guy call you Princess."  
  
"Ruairi. He's my healer. I had to send for him."  
  
"Oh. Well, it sounds like your story's out."  
  
"Not all of it?"  
  
"No, probably not. But Malfoy knows that your father is the powerful Goblin King. Which means that everyone else knows."  
  
Orla looked absolutely horrified.  
  
"I promised! I promised him I'd only tell you!"  
  
"What nobody," Hermione said meaningfully, "can understand is why you were an owl last night."  
  
Orla sighed heavily.  
  
"I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. It's my birthright. A part of me- a part of my heart, is the owl, just like my father. His sister became a black swan when she transformed," A dark shadow crossed her face as it often did when she spoke of home.  
  
"I've not transformed many times before and not for a long time," she went on to tell them about her father's request to Dumbledore and how she had to do it regularly.  
  
"Why? Would you lose the ability?" Ron asked curiously, never having a friend who could turn into an owl before.  
  
"No. Maybe. I don't know. I don't even understand it. I should've been trained by my father already. Yesterday Professor McGonagall let me transform and go flying for a little while. But I got lost. Then I got shot. Still don't quite know how I got back here. Adrenaline I suppose. And iron poisons the fae, I don't know if you know. We had to send for a healer from home."  
  
"Why couldn't you tell us that you were an owl?" Harry asked. All three looked rather hurt.  
  
"If a rumour got out that I was princess, I could deny it. But if people saw me transform, I couldn't deny that, could I? There are reasons I'm at Hogwarts that aren't entirely different to yours, Harry. And I don't mean passing OWLs."  
  
Harry nodded. She was here to be protected, just like him.  
  
"But in Transfiguration, you're at the same level as us. Shouldn't you be brilliant or something?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I was born with the ability to become an owl. That doesn't give me the ability to turn a chair into a nice summer robe," she smiled wryly. "I don't even know half this magic. And I suspect that the only reason my father is so well-versed in it is because he came here."  
  
Before any of them could carry on the conversation, breakfast was over and they were forced off to Potions.  
  
***  
  
They had no sooner sat down in the Potions dungeon when Malfoy pounced.  
  
"You look well today Orla," he said smoothly.  
  
"No I don't. I look like I was shot and poisoned yesterday and then slept badly. If you're going to lie, try harder," she snapped.  
  
Malfoy actually looked rather hurt for a moment, but regained his composure with ease.  
  
"You know, I don't see why you hang out with Mudblood here..." he was going to continue, but before he could, Orla seized him by the throat in fury.  
  
"What did you call her?" she asked.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"What? Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It sounded to me like you called her a Mudblood."  
  
"Did I? How remiss of me," Malfoy wheezed.  
  
Orla released him ever so slightly and he gasped for air.  
  
"Who do you suppose I am, Draco?" she asked smoothly, a dangerous glint in her eye.  
  
"You're Princess Orla, daughter of the Goblin King."  
  
"Yes. That's right. Do you suppose I'm very powerful?"  
  
"I know you are. I heard Dumbledore and McGonagall talking yesterday."  
  
"Really? So I must be pretty tough and cool, right Draco?" her smooth, cool tone made him shiver.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And I'm a Princess?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And one day, when my father dies, I'll be the Protector of the entire Underground?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"And I'll be able to create or destroy cities there with a flick of the wrist?"  
  
"Yes," he said. She paused for a moment and let go of him.  
  
"Do you know who my mother was, Draco?"  
  
"No," he said, taken aback by the swift change in questioning.  
  
"She was called Sarah Williams and she was as Muggle as they come."  
  
Several students gasped at this shocking announcement. Malfoy, for his part, didn't bother concealing his surprise.  
  
"She was a Muggle, but she believed in magic. A Muggle was the only person to ever steal the heart of the cold, manipulative, cunning, wicked Goblin King. Did you know that he remodelled the entire Labyrinth for her? That he reordered time, just for her. But you know what happened before any of that?"  
  
"No."  
  
"My lowly born, Muggle mother was the only person to ever beat the Labyrinth."  
  
More gasps followed. Most magical children were told stories of the Labyrinth at bedtimes and it was a fantastical, impossible place to them.  
  
"So Draco, what do you say to that?"  
  
"I..." he stopped.  
  
"Do you remember what I said last time? Do you really want to meet my family, knowing what you do now?" her eyes gleamed again.  
  
"No."  
  
"Well then, you know what to do. Mention it again and you'll become personally acquainted with my great uncle Ugani, a fae so mean that he won't even allow himself a birthday card."  
  
"Yes," he went to move away, but a thin hand grabbed him again.  
  
"Apologise to Hermione," Orla said in a pleasant tone that masked her intent.  
  
"Not on your life!" At that, Orla pushed him away and conjured a crystal. She then went to throw it at him.  
  
"OK! OK! I'm very sorry Granger... Hermione. It was wrong and mean of me and I'm sorry," Draco said through gritted teeth.  
  
"Better," Orla growled before sitting down. She then turned to Hermione and whispered.  
  
"I'm glad that worked. All this crystal would do is shatter," she said, turning the sparkling orb in her hand.  
  
"For you, mademoiselle," she handed it to Hermione, who smiled her thanks rather uncertainly.  
  
"You shouldn't have done that."  
  
"No?"  
  
"He'll get over the shock and tell his father."  
  
"No he won't," Orla said in an arrogant manner so reminiscent of her father that it was eerie. "Besides, what could his father do?"  
  
"You've never met Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"Nope. But I've seen my dad in a rage. After that, I can take anything."  
  
"Expulsion?" Hermione asked. Orla's arrogant smirk fell from her face and she fell silent. Snape then entered, unusually late.  
  
"Good morning class," he snarled. "I apologise for my lateness. It seems that some of our number have an allergy to iron and I was asked to find an antidote."  
  
He glared at Orla- the first time he had ever done so. But she was so wrapped up in the idea that she might be expelled that she barely noticed.  
  
***  
  
After discovering the rest of the truth about Orla, Harry, Ron and Hermione kept their distance. They had opened their usually tight ranks for her- something they rarely did- and now felt as if she had betrayed them. She felt the same, although she realised that one way she broke the promise to her father and the other way she betrayed her friends. One way she lost, the other way she lost. She opted to stay out of their way for the most part- talking to them at meals and during class like the rest of the Gryffindors but not accompanying them to Hogsmeade or on other such jaunts.  
  
Increasingly then, she found herself isolated. The arrogant streak in Jareth's daughter had always meant that she had trouble making real friends and now that everyone was wary of her, most people kept their distance. She understood better now how it was for Harry, and why he usually confined himself to spending time with Ron & Hermione. She spent most of her time studying, trying to come up to scratch in her weak classes.  
  
She also spent rather longer than she should have done as an owl. She was still restricted to the grounds (or rather, airspace) of school, and she didn't really relish flying over the forest. Anyone paying attention would notice that a small snowy owl with red markings was often perched on the roof of Gryffindor Tower, watching the world that was Hogwarts.  
  
***  
  
Of course, such tranquillity was not to last and as the weather began to turn towards summer, Harry was summoned to Dumbledore's office. Hoping that it was nothing to do with his and Ron's evening flit to Hogsmeade the night before, he went up to the Headmaster's office.  
  
The old wizard was not alone, which wasn't unusual, but instead of the stern face of McGonagall or the incensed face of Snape, he saw a fine boned face, a little harsh but without malice. A tall, poised man with long blond hair was stood looking out of the window. Harry noticed that, like Orla, his eyes were not the same colour: one was blue and the other was green.  
  
"Harry, this is the Goblin King," Dumbledore said without preamble. To Harry's surprise, the Goblin King smiled, and it seemed to transform his entire face.  
  
"Call me Jareth."  
  
"Hello."  
  
"There's a reason you were called here Harry," Dumbledore told him. "Jareth will explain."  
  
"I don't know how much my daughter has told you of the Underground, but you probably know that for five years now, there has been a vicious, bloody war raging."  
  
"I did know that," Harry said softly, rather in awe of Jareth.  
  
"The fae leading the rebel army is a particularly nasty sort by the name of Brekdor. I had suspected that he was receiving outside help, but until my spies returned from their last mission, I could not be sure," Jareth paused and Harry had a sinking feeling that he knew what was coming next. "The name Voldemort ring a bell, Harry?"  
  
"You might say that," Harry replied bitterly.  
  
How could this King treat it all so casually? Voldemort had killed his parents and many others and was on the rise again. How could Jareth be so blasé?  
  
"He's helping Brekdor. If Brekdor can defeat me and get his hands on the keys to the Underground, believe me when I say that Voldemort and Brekdor will have enough power to destroy most of the Northern Hemisphere without breaking a sweat and will only need a quick pause to destroy the rest of the world."  
  
Jareth looked deadly serious now.  
  
"I believe what Jareth wants to ask is if you will help him defeat Brekdor," Dumbledore supplied, knowing that the proud king would never directly ask for help. Could never ask for it.  
  
"Me?"  
  
"And your friends. Your triumvirate is really quite powerful," said Jareth.  
  
"What can we do?"  
  
"The sort of magic you use is quite different to ours. You will be able to help me, while Brekdor will have nothing to counteract your magic. At least, that is the plan. I ask you only because by doing this you will severely weaken Voldemort's links to the Underground's magic. That will, in turn, weaken him. If you do not wish to take part, then very well. I cannot do anything more than ask."  
  
"I'll... I'll speak to Ron and Hermione," Harry said, actually rather flattered that the Goblin King had asked for his help. And not just his help, but Ron's and Hermione's.  
  
"Harry," Jareth said as the boy wizard went to leave.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You must not let on to Orla that I am here, or that I have been here. Come back here when you have your answer."  
  
"Yes. OK."  
  
*** What will the trio say to Jareth? What will Orla's reaction be. Tune in again for the next episode of the Well-Coiffed and the Restless! 


End file.
